[Third Person Pov]
Arthur woke with a low, involuntary groan that scraped past his dry throat. Pain greeted him immediately, blooming through every inch of his body in dull, throbbing waves. His muscles felt overworked and brittle, as though they had been pushed far beyond their natural limits and were only now protesting the abuse. Exhaustion clung to him like a second skin, heavy and suffocating.
He blinked slowly, his vision swimming as harsh white light stabbed into his eyes. The ceiling above him was unfamiliar at first, sterile and pristine, until recognition settled in. The hospital wing of Hogwarts.
Arthur grimaced as he pushed himself upright, his arms trembling faintly beneath his own weight. He wore a simple white shirt, the fabric loose and soft against his battered frame. His necklace rested against his chest, its familiar weight oddly grounding amidst the disorientation.
A small warmth shifted in his lap.
Sylvia was curled there, her small form tense, golden eyes wide and filled with concern as she stared up at him. The moment she realized he was awake, her posture straightened, her ears twitching as if reassuring herself he was truly conscious.
"Look who finally decided to wake up."
Arthur turned his head toward the voice. Lance stood beside the bed, arms folded, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. Despite having been seriously injured before, he now looked perfectly fine, without even a trace of fatigue. Merlin and Gwyneth stood beside him, both watching Arthur with expressions that blended relief and restrained worry.
"Ugh…" Arthur muttered hoarsely, running a hand weakly through his hair. "To be the one who falls asleep from exhaustion of all things… how embarrassing."
Gwyneth let out a soft huff of amusement and reached forward, patting his leg. Her expression carried an unmistakable teasing tilt, though her eyes softened with genuine relief.
"Well, at least now we know you're human," she said lightly. "I was starting to wonder if you were some kind of monster pretending to be one."
Arthur chuckled faintly, though the sound lacked its usual strength. He glanced past them, his gaze drifting across the hospital wing.
On the far opposite side, separated by a few beds and curtains, lay Harry Potter.
He was still unconscious.
Seated at his side were Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, both refusing to leave him alone. Ron sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring intently as if sheer willpower could force Harry to wake. Hermione sat straighter, but her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, her usual composure fractured by quiet worry.
Arthur's chest tightened faintly at the sight.
Merlin suddenly reached forward and knocked gently against his forehead with her knuckles.
"You're such a numbskull," Merlin said, shaking her head with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "You and I are going to have a very long talk about this later."
Arthur winced dramatically, though there was no real force behind the gesture. He looked at her and offered an apologetic smile, one that carried more sincerity than words could express.
He opened his mouth, intending to ask how everyone else was doing—how bad things had been after he lost consciousness—but before he could speak, the curtain beside his bed was abruptly pulled aside.
Both Madam Pomfrey and Albus Dumbledore stepped into view.
"Ah, good, you're awake, you reckless child," Madam Pomfrey said immediately, her tone sharp with disapproval but underscored with clear relief. She moved to his side without hesitation, already examining him with practiced efficiency. "Tell me, how are you feeling? Any discomfort? Soreness? Lingering pain? Dizziness?"
Arthur gave a tired shrug. "Just… exhausted."
"That is to be expected," she huffed, placing her hands firmly on her hips. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she shook her head. "The state you were delivered to me in was nothing short of appalling. Honestly, what were you thinking…"
Arthur wisely chose not to answer that.
Dumbledore stood slightly behind her, observing the scene in silence. His blue eyes, bright and piercing behind his half-moon spectacles, moved calmly between Arthur and the others. He said nothing at first, simply watching, listening, waiting.
After a few moments, he stepped forward.
"If you would all be so kind," Dumbledore said gently, his voice calm yet carrying quiet authority, "I would like a few moments alone with Arthur. There are some matters I wish to discuss."
"What? But I still need to—" Madam Pomfrey began, clearly unwilling to abandon her patient.
"It will only take a few minutes," Dumbledore assured her patiently. "You may resume your examination immediately afterward."
Madam Pomfrey hesitated, her expression torn between professional obligation and reluctant respect. Finally, she exhaled sharply.
"Oh, very well," she relented. She turned toward the others, waving her hand firmly. "Come along, everyone. Give them some space."
Though reluctant, they obeyed. Lance gave Arthur a brief nod. Gwyneth offered an encouraging smile. Merlin lingered a moment longer before finally turning away, her expression thoughtful.
Once they were gone, Dumbledore reached out and gently closed the curtain, sealing them off from the rest of the hospital wing.
The atmosphere shifted immediately.
The warmth of companionship was replaced by something heavier. Something quieter. Something far more serious.
Dumbledore turned back to Arthur, his full attention now fixed upon him.
"Now then," he said softly. "I have heard the accounts of the others. But I would very much like to hear your version of events. Tell me what happened last night."
Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
'You were there. You already know.' But he understood why the question was being asked.
Dumbledore wasn't asking for information.
He was watching him.
Measuring him.
Arthur let out a slow, weary breath and began recounting everything. He told him how Harry had come to them with his suspicions about Snape. How they had formed a plan. How they had descended into the hidden chambers beneath the school. He described the trials they had faced, the puzzles they had solved, the dangers they had endured.
And finally… Quirrell.
Arthur spoke carefully, deliberately. He did not lie—but neither did he offer more than necessary.
Throughout it all, Dumbledore listened without interruption, his expression calm and unreadable. He occasionally nodded, his fingers steepled together, his eyes never leaving Arthur's face.
When Arthur finished, silence filled the space between them.
Arthur looked up, meeting Dumbledore's gaze fully.
The old wizard's eyes shone like multifaceted jewels, ancient and knowing. They carried weight. Experience. Understanding far beyond ordinary men.
And suspicion.
Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly and exhaled.
"Arthur," he said quietly. "Can you be honest with me?"
Arthur closed his own eyes for a moment before answering.
"After everything you've done for me," Arthur said calmly, "I would not lie to you, Headmaster. If you ask a question I cannot answer… then I will simply tell you that I cannot answer it."
Dumbledore nodded slowly, accepting the terms without argument.
The silence that followed stretched longer than necessary, thick with unspoken meaning.
Then, finally, Dumbledore spoke.
"…Who exactly are you?"
Arthur did not answer.
He remained perfectly still, his lips pressed into a thin, silent line as the weight of the question settled heavily between them.
Dumbledore continued despite the silence, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable weight behind it. "I hold no record of an Arthur King, nor any wizarding house bearing the same surname. The earliest confirmed appearance of you was when you stood before Nicolas Flamel alongside your companion. I have also consulted with the Ministry of Magic, and there has not been a single individual born under the name Arthur King within the last century."
Arthur let out a heavy sigh and reached up, ruffling his already messy hair in quiet frustration. "Forgive me, Headmaster, but that is one of the questions I am not allowed to answer."
Dumbledore frowned.
Arthur met his gaze without hesitation, his expression calm but firm.
"It is for your protection and mine," Arthur answered sincerely. "But do not worry. I have no doubt there will come a day when you learn who I truly am. It is not an identity that can remain hidden forever. Whether sooner or later, it will inevitably become known. Of that, I have no doubt."
Dumbledore's frown remained. He did not like that answer. Not in the slightest. Secrets were not unfamiliar to him, but this one carried a weight he could not yet measure. Still, he chose not to press directly against that wall. Instead, he adjusted his approach.
"Do the Flamels know?" he asked.
"They do," Arthur answered with a nod. "They welcomed me into their home, treated me as family, and imparted their knowledge to me without hesitation. The least I could offer them in return was honesty."
Dumbledore accepted that answer with a small nod before continuing. "And the sword?"
"A family heirloom," Arthur replied. "Passed down through centuries. I am its current wielder."
It was the truth, even if it was far from the whole truth.
Dumbledore studied him for a moment longer before asking his next question. "Do you know who is after you? You were specifically targeted, in addition to Harry… from what I have heard, of course," he added mildly.
Arthur let out a quiet sound of frustration, his fingers tightening slightly against the bedsheets. "I do not. But I very much wish I did. I honestly do not have the slightest clue. I have not knowingly made enemies of anyone, at least not to my knowledge. I consider myself a rather amicable person… or so I would like to believe."
Dumbledore let out a soft chuckle at that, and he did not argue the point. He had personally witnessed how easily Arthur connected with others. Students trusted him. Even those who were normally reserved or cautious seemed drawn to him. It was difficult to imagine someone harboring such hostility toward him without reason.
Still, the chuckle faded, and his expression grew serious once more.
"One final question," Dumbledore said.
Arthur straightened slightly, giving him his full attention.
"Do you believe it would be safe," Dumbledore asked carefully, "not only for you, but for those around you, if you were to continue attending Hogwarts?"
Arthur blinked, caught off guard by the question. He had expected suspicion. Interrogation. Perhaps even quiet accusations. But not this.
He fell silent, genuinely considering it.
His mind drifted back to the battle. The destruction. The overwhelming danger. The Gorgon.
The realization that wherever he went, danger was surely to follow.
His expression visibly dimmed, his earlier composure faltering slightly.
"No…" Arthur answered quietly. "It would not be safe."
The honesty in his voice was unmistakable.
Dumbledore watched him closely, observing the guilt and burden Arthur carried. Then, slowly, the frown on his face softened, easing into a small, gentle smile.
"Very well," Dumbledore said. "Thank you for being honest with me."
Arthur blinked in confusion. "Huh?"
He looked up at him, his expression clearly asking the unspoken question.
That's it?
Dumbledore chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling faintly behind his spectacles. "What? Did you believe I would expel you because of your answer?"
Arthur gave an awkward grin. "I would be lying if I said the thought had not crossed my mind."
Dumbledore shook his head. "You are a student of this school. You risked your life for the sake of your friends, and you stood against overwhelming odds with courage in your heart. You are a Gryffindor through and through."
Arthur smiled faintly but remained silent, allowing him to continue.
"Hogwarts was built to be a sanctuary for its students," Dumbledore said sincerely. "That includes you. No matter how many enemies you may have, you may rest assured that as long as Hogwarts' walls remain standing, they will protect you and every other student within them. You have my word."
Arthur could not help the small smirk that formed on his lips. "Then Hogwarts' walls must have some cracks in them," he said lightly, "because someone already managed to slip through."
"Ah…" Dumbledore breathed, momentarily at a loss for words.
Arthur began to laugh, the sound quiet but genuine. After a moment, Dumbledore joined him, his own laughter warm and soft.
The tension between them eased.
Arthur looked up at him, his expression sincere. "Thank you for your words, Headmaster."
Dumbledore smiled gently and reached forward, placing a hand atop Arthur's head in a quiet gesture of reassurance, accepting his gratitude without needing to say a word.
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